Heart Awakening

Darwin, Marx and Walmart at Christmas

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

Two men we have heard of, and perhaps even read their writing. Secular and worldly writers both of them. Superman religion is an opiate of the people and illusion, no future. Also evolution that man has worked himself up from the brutes against terrific odds. You can justify your voracious ways. It’s easy to understand these viewpoints which totally ignore the necessity of us to answer the questions which we all have within. Why am I here? What or who made the universe? How can something come from nothing? What is the meaning of life?

Everyone has these questions, everyone. It is easy to deny them though because spiritual things are not seen in this world unless we look for them. We are blind and deaf to the truth. What is Christmas all about anyway and what is black Friday?

I remember Christmas in downtown Minneapolis from my early days while I walked around the biggest department store in the Twin Cities. Daytons. Every large window from the sidewalk had everything anyone desired, Model trains and such for myself and my youthful friends. Beautiful stuff. Exotic clothes, hats and shoes. Appliances unknown along with the latest TV sets and phonographs. Dazzling. We would walk around the store which is a city block square.

The best food. There it was, on the top floor, a restaurant serving food that was totally unadvertised and you had to know it was there to go. Exquisite, tasty and classy linen and crystal water glass’

In a very stretchy analogy, I liken this dichotomy to the secular vs spiritual in our society. After all, like the windows in this story, the world is always right before our eyes. Everything you think you would want is on show. Even other people we lust for because of their shape or the clothing they wear. Wallets full of other peoples money, car lots filled with shiny new vehicles. The latest models that are styled right from Holly wood movies to you. A car that appears to be a knockoff of a Formula 1 racer.

Fast food shouted from the freeways on huge, tall billboards. Exit now! get twenty Grey Bastille French burgers! They’re neatly sliced, and the pastry on the buns is exquisite. Everywhere the world beckons us to experience fulfillment and joy from horse racing to the Indianapolis 500. Advertising has reached another new level. not only at Christmas.

It doesn’t work. There is always someone richer or seemingly famous and beautiful that has a much nicer spouse and life than us. Look at the National Perspire at the grocery check out. Envy on our face as we gaze at the latest scandal with the beautiful wife of the revealed grassy knoll shooter. That doesn’t work either. Pick up a “My home and garden are better than yours” magazine or Readers Disgust and laugh at yourself and your pitiful life. There is hope though! Akin to the hidden treasure atop the department store, there is treasure in our world. Affordable treasure for your life. It seems like a steep price tag but the warranty goes forever. And it can be given away and still held!

The real world is indeed filled with fulfillment, joy and adoration. Our King and possessor of all things seen, felt and seen will give us this treasure and it is yours to experience and hold, forever. It is the treasure we all yearn for and once we have it, we can’t wait to give it to others.

Christmas is rightly focused on giving. The celebrations with bells and choirs and candles light the way to the best gift given. Wrapped in cloth and as delicate and astonishing as the perfect gift.

Sign up with an oath to share and enjoy with others that deserve this treasure as much as you do. You will hear our Creator tell you things and again and again; tell you that you are His treasure and gift from Him and His Son. We must give up on the old, lustful world inside of us and open our hearts to truth and reality, forever. This gift never goes out of stock, it becomes more beautiful the more you give it to others. It cannot be ordered from Amazon or found on eBay. There is a catalogue that has all the details and is available in stores throughout the land. It is also found in bedside drawers in hotels!

It is handed to you as your heart beats strongly and joy and tears overflows. It is truly the gift that keeps on giving. It’s pretty good. Norman Peterson / Jack Gator

Mr. Smith goes to Washington

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

Another movie coming to a government agency near you. Some of you remember Orwell’s movie but this is a powerful remake. The plot is basically: A semi-secret agency in our nation’s capital has made moves initiated by insane people acting on odd convictions and they are using political power and the captive Fourth Estate (look it up) to promote, indoctrinate and mold public thought. It’s against the constitution in many ways. the First amendment states freedom of speech. (Not freedom from religion but freedom OF religion) Debate, thought and discourse cannot be altered from this basic right.

Already that article of freedom was trampled in 1962 which removed the foundation of this beautiful country. A lawsuit by Madeline Murry O’Hare, an atheist, successfully removed any mention of faith, prayer, the Bible and anything pointing to our original pledge of allegiance in our schools. The universal statements of our founding fathers and our first Presidents.

You perhaps have noticed the words under God have been dropped in some public pledges. I am certain the next move will be removing In God we trust from our currency. As I look at a twenty dollar bill, President Jackson has a serious expression. Perhaps seeing the way things have gone with the disgruntled proponents of decadence and oppression (in the name of freedom of course) Of course, we don’t have the freedom to disagree. Haters, oppressors, now if you oppose these things, everything you write or say is phobic. Islamophobic was not a talking point years ago in New York on Sept. 11.

We have watched these things escalate, political correctness is the insidious phrase used to alter the past, wipe out books that say things that are truthful. Science! They shout, it’s inhibited by Religion!

Read Plato’s logic which is one of the solid philosophy truths we know. “If there are no absolutes, the the individual things which are about us, have no meaning” The particulars, the individual things that are about us always matter.

At that time, thousands of years ago, very wise men spoke these things to one another about reality and reason. People like Socrates, Plato and Aristotle. Even Paul went to Mars hill and was asked to speak about the unknown God. They did not have him arrested because he talked about the God of creation, Logically.

The absurd is the cause of the talk of banning great childhood books that are accused of having racist images. Also Books of great scientific knowledge that state men and women are created by God and they are created as men and women. A recent quote seems to fit an absurd thought: “I was trapped in the body of a woman and then my mother gave birth to me” Good sarcasm.

Perversion is now taught in our schools and any mention of truth can get you fired as a teacher. I wonder now what biology classes teach. “It’s not my fault, I was created that way” But it takes sperm and ovum, a womb. A Man and a woman. A medical exam can tell which we are. Thinking we are someone else is a definition of insanity and is indoctrination by absurd theorists who demand re-writing of scientific truth.

The thought police are hard at work to destroy us and put us under their control. George Orwell put it quite well (look it up if you are interested, or write me) {New think}, tear down the statues of history, rewrite or ban and burn books of truth and also history. The pilgrims are now referred to as white oppressors. Of course, this is a simple path to fear of being politically incorrect. That can get you into trouble and get you reprimanded by the woke [sic] people.

The socialist play book instructs the power hungry to paint themselves as victims. Phrases stating that you and I are oppressors. The real story is that they want desperately to be the ones in power by controlling any thought or truth as an antitheses to your path of righteousness. It Worked for Lenin, Stalin and Trotsky who initiated the socialist tyranny that still exists. The concept of equality of income and government support to endow us with re-written history. The only thing I can remember that our government gave to me free was a uniform, training and free air plane rides to a foreign country to serve our country. I even got paid and free meals too. Serve your country, do not demand your country serve you.

Awaken my beloved friends and ones I have not met yet. Be free to disagree with me and use logic to speak to one another, not propaganda. A new shirt says: “What is printed on the back of this shirt is true.” The back reads: “What is printed on the front of this shirt is false” It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson /Jack Gator

Musicians of Eternal Sound and Sight

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

There I was, Camera 2 on a tripod mounted at Front of House. Instructed over my head com to push in with the lens and get a closer view of the electric guitar on the left side of the platform.

What a sound! The number 4 camera got a really nice shot and the director kept that shot on the side screens and lobby screens for a LONG time as Troy played the song. ..” I see creatures all around you, thunders and lightnings” of the Revelation song. It was loud, wicked and over the top” You could see troy with his famous grin, enjoying the worship with a heart filled with adoration. He was having too much fun.

The steam powered Bigsby bar sound coupled with a metal finger slide brought the house down and suddenly, there was a loud scream from the front of the room: “I’ve been washed!”

She was dancing and leaping about and kept her hand over her heart and security just stood there amazed, stunned and reassured that the Holy Spirit was in full force in the room and in them. A thousand people or more just filled with Joy they never experienced nor expected.

We got it all and the simulcast went all over the world. Things began to happen in England, Poland, Australia and other places too fast to type down off the internet feed. It was glorious. The room began a conga line up and down the aisles, laughing and enjoying the joy that spread throughout…everywhere. “Holy, Holy is the Lord God almighty” was heard six times every second around the world. The speed of light is like that. Fast.

There was a sea of glass in all skies, blazing and the man with eyes of fire replaced the sun and moon and called us to join him in rapture. Forever. It was pretty good! Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

  • Many thanks to Mitch Teemley for capturing the picture of the guitar

Clearing a Pathway to Shelter and Life

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

It’s one of the farm chores in the winter. Looking towards the east of this photo is the barn. When we had horses and a few cows, a pathway would have be made from the driveway east about 150 feet or so. If the walk behind snowblower started. We always had a laugh about our snowblower that did not like to start when it was cold. The big snowblower for the driveway was not used for the path. Too many stumps and debris that were hard to see from the tractor seat. The walk behind would not be damaged bumping into such things. Nice and slow and closer to the ground.

The hose for filling the water trough would be laid out next to the path. When the trough was full, the hose which was set up on hooks that were screwed into the garden end posts. Then the hose would be blown out with the air hose from the shop which has a manifold to the water supply. Tedious work and the hose ran right across the parking lot and had a few damaged sections seen in the spring and had to be repaired. It was easier to see the leaks in winter and make note of them.

The chicken coop was next to the barn and of course, needed water as well. We sold the horses and ate the cows and the chicken coop is built on running gear. When a place is cleared nearer to the house it will be much easier to gather eggs and give them food and water. Meanwhile the water had to be taken in a wheelbarrow in summer when the hose and horses were gone. A declaration over breakfast “who’s going to water the chickens?” A brief summery which chickens were sharing a nest and how many eggs should be in it.

Farm life without a stand pipe in the barn. Labor or a lot of money to bury the water line. Which choice to make after cursory glances at the bank balance?

There are other paths that do not require snow blower attachments, or shovels and cups of coffee to accomplish. These are paths much more important than watering troughs or gardens in the spring. Paths for us every hour of our days till transformation to what we really are. We are created as eternal beings. All of us.

A place, a time and a decision can put a path in front of us. I made a decision on an address that had the first three numbers of my old Gibson mandolin as I walked by. 777. It seemed right and stunning. I kept walking into a church because of that sign. A guidepost for only myself that I trusted immediately. I Still go there.

I was walking out to the barn in the middle of a snowstorm and when I reached the barn, there was a white out of snow. The only way back home was to follow that water hose , or be lost. Trust in the creator of all things and He shows us how to walk out of the wilderness. I was lost and now am found.

The shelter He calls us to when we have a bale in each hand when the wind blows bitter and the shadows are dark A.

The architects of large buildings of every kind do not know how pathways are supposed to be built. They watch and look for wear and footprints of the people drawn or working there. Those paths tell them where to put sidewalks. They are called meander lines. No one gets lost in a blizzard there but it can be tedious to find doors if there are no direct walkways.

Be steady on your walk through life and look for that lifeline that is given by the spirit of the living God within you. It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator

A. Frederick Buechner

String theory on the Intelligentsia Playground

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

In order to prove the theory of gravitation which is linked with the resonance of particulars, a linear accelerator the size of a galaxy would be needed. That would take quite a government grant. Another quote: “..it all depends on exactly what you call gravity” or, “ will we ever know the real nature of space and time?”

We Have a swell free magazine operation. Early or late, 24 hours open is the library magazine drop off . (It is the place where I met the ‘North Dakota Drifter’) I stopped on my way to an early morning swim, stopped at the Wisconsin small town library heated atrium with a small bench and deposit slots for media and books. On the bench cardboard magazine contribution box I found several magazines of interest. One of them in particular that had an article speculating on the beginning of space and time. There is some disagreement among the research and the most popular version involves a fantastic theorem. Well researched and well written too.

Roughly the theory speculates that both space and time emerged from the structure and behavior of more basic components of nature. It is often referred to as “The theory of everything” This might be the analysis that the Monte Python movie was inspired by. Hyper pan dimensional mice are responsible for creation is that theory. Quite close to the article in Scientific American actually. Suddenly, in the midst of this complex article the “Big Bang” gets brought into the playground. OK, here is the summary in the article. String Theory: “It’s eponymous strings are the fundamental constituents of matter and energy, giving rise to myriad fundamental subatomic particles at particle accelerators around the world.”

That’s pretty basic stuff and it goes on from there. If you are a nuclear physicist, this is just the credits before the main attraction. Sort of like the disclaimer in action movies that state all names, places and people are fictional and bear no resemblance to real ones. Entertaining if you like to go to those sort of movies. And of course, we have to add Star Trek nomenclature into the thesis with black holes. Not the ones at the on ramp to highway 8. Those holes can take you where you have never gone before. Places like Jay Austins Auto sales and service.

Seriously, there is more with diagrams of resonance to particles galaxies away. Now they are getting somewhat closer. Science fiction such as “Out of the silent planet” or ‘Perelandra’ by C.S. Lewis are more entertaining with the precepts given in those books. Try ‘Life, the universe and everything’ by Douglas Adams. There is even a movie made out of that one. Hitchhikers guide to the Galaxy.

I am looking forward to that answer. Perhaps, as I speculated in one of my columns, ‘The watchmaker in Paradise’ (published October 27th 2021) We have no idea what we will encounter in a place indeed without time or perhaps the universe as we see or imagine it is. This thought ‘string’ is perhaps what all these brilliant physicists are searching for. Desperately searching for anything to explain how and why we are here, or what here is.

I know there is a mind that created me and you and all that we are and will be. After all, the brilliance of scientists ends at the endorsement of the theory of ‘The big bang’ a popular view that takes God out of the creation. Perhaps some scientist will actually believe that they can create life from elements of our earth or discover life in our own backyard of the solar system. The challenge to create life from dirt is you have to get your own dirt. Evolution does not compute at all. My eye could not possibly be built by waiting 5 billion years for eyes to ‘evolve’ As in the article of string theory it could be said, “Get your own string” The most basic thoughts from children is “If there was a big bang, where did it come from and who lit the fuse?”

Three words can describe our existence and they are written down in an incredible book. “In the beginning..” Is anything impossible to the eternal God that was not created that can spend an eternity with just you or me?

Eternity indeed is calling me away, calling me home and it’s pretty good.. Norman Peterson /Jack Gator

Open Windows II

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

As goes a saying, especially in a novel by George MacDonald (At the back of the North Wind), the window in our hearts has to be open for change to enter. Of course, the change has to be done by Adonni. The man of no reputation, the healer and the Abba Father. More on that later.

I used to think that the window was the focus, as could be interpreted in the novel. After all, the North Wind says it isn’t A window, it was Her window. The Holy Spirit’s window.

If the cleanliness of the window was the issue, it would not be good. My heart especially. If you have read a few of these columns over the last few years, you know a bit of my life. Not very sociable is a light term. Speaking of which, another column more recently addressed that issue. Especially church attenders and faithful ones too. Open Windows.

This column is dedicated to the folks that have been attending church for some time, some even since childhood. Deacons, leaders and elders too, attentive and a lot of times, complimenting the Pastor/speaker on their talk. Just say ‘thanks, I needed that’. It’s good, don’t misunderstand me. As had been said by my very closest friend, Julie, “don’t take condemnation”Pay attention to what I am saying without judgment please. It works to think beyond our image of ourselves. Growing up is better and preferred. It’s hard and often embarrassing. We all need to grow, constantly. It’s why we listen.

All this illuminating about scripture can be rather distracting if we are not paying attention to the complete conviction and the very passionate person standing in front of you,saying these important things. It’s not a college lecture on philosophy or metaphysics. It’s not the old Greek style of a famous orator. Taking notes is very good, I do that too. The notes are not the passion. They are to be read now and then. After all , you wrote them for that reason! Just as in school you wrote crib notes for the coming exams. The thoughts of those notes return

‘Watch, look and listen’ just as at a railroad crossing is good advice. If we don’t, it’s easy to get distracted by the speeding train in our minds. “I wonder what’s for lunch?” “That gal I saw in the lobby certainly caught my eye till I remembered God’s word on that!” the worst one for me is “I wonder when church will be over, I’ve got to get some shopping done”

We must open our hearts to what is being said, don’t concern yourself about schedules and perhaps about the dirt on your ‘window’. Throw up the sash and let that cool breeze into your heart. When you start to weep, that is the first sign of successful communication and often, astonishment. Those besides you may ask, “What’s wrong!” The correct answer from me is: “these are tears of joy! I cry at great music too”

A word of caution! Don’t wipe your eyes, just get the run off. Tears are good for you. The Lord says he treasures them for grief and this grief is real. It’s conviction for how short our arrows fall when we think we are making a bulls eye with our life. The voice you hear goes way beyond the speaker in front of you.

Let the transformation begin when our dirty window is even slightly open. It isn’t a window per se, It’s just our guard we have developed to protect our damage and disappointments. Filthy windows, and hard to see into as well. We know the dirt and smudges and they mean nothing to who we are. We are created as one of a kind, a miracle of incredible complexity and unique potential. Throw open the sash and indeed, the tears will flow when truth is heard. We don’t usually hear truth about ourselves supernaturally. It’s pretty good. Norm / Jack

Open Windows

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment





It’s momentary. A brief, but time stopping moment in your daily flow through life. An opportunity given without our knowing how it happened, a glimpse of what we all long for. Something more real than our lives seem to be.


Perhaps, reader you are a particular type of artist that is focused on your art. All of us are ‘artists’ in some way because art is a longing for the real reason we are here! The big longing. Why am I here and how am I here?

One of the authors that I know of, has had that reality vision is George MacDonald. A book he wrote, ‘At the the back of the North Wind’ has a sentence that explains the path of connection to the author of all beauty. All Art. The reaching out to us by this artist of all that was, all that is and all that will be, MacDonald’s story says: “Why are you closing My window? There is no window here! I did not say, a window. I said My window” 1.


A reach, a willingness to reveal ourselves. That is the the hardest and most rewarding decision we ever make in our lives. The Lord’s window can only be opened from the inside because that is where the latch is.
You may certainly ask at this point; how is this done? It sounds pretty swell but is it really? How hard is ‘the hardest thing?’ That is another hard thing for me to explain because of not being understood.


There are groups of people that we find ourselves in now and then, sometimes our decision is to be there with them. It immediately makes me a bit wary because I have a tendency to open my window to my heart as a way to show it can be done. Awkward and fulfilling at times. That is the reason this column is written for you to read.

An unexpected shout of judgment from one of the hidden Sanhedrin can be unpleasant when truth is spoken. I was shouted out of a room when I revealed stalking a rapist decades ago with a nine millimeter hidden at my back. “Murderer!” was shouted several times and could not be quelled or explained as this was an open window to my heart. A teaching and revealing moment was not heard. I did not get the chance to explain why this was happening and how I was told to put the pistol under a bush and walk home. I was surprised, I know everyone has wanted to hit someone in the face with a rock. We just don’t like to think about it, let alone discuss it. We are all murderers and worse for those thoughts. The Lord tells us if we even think about those things, we have done them.

When Jack is speaking to Julie,, the windows to her heart are always open. I have to work quickly on my window latch to be of use to her. I’m learning. A bit of anointing oil applied earlier to the latch helps a lot. That oil is hard good work to obtain and the pun is: ‘ It is always Three in One oil.

You can always tell when someone has an open heart. Believe it or not, it’s your choice to look and see. Once you have been with Jesus, the master carpenter that has made those windows in there. The ability to touch that heart is yours. It’s a great gift and is offered to one and all, even me, the broken story teller.


‘No body knows the trouble I’ve seen, no body knows my sorrow’ Old blues song by Louis Armstrong.
He knew the deal. No one of us knows the trouble you’ve seen, nobody. There is a man, alive today that knows and is willing to listen to your trouble. He will tell you things about that trouble. Things made just for you to do. Often, for me, things I don’t want to do. However, that open window blows in and those things Jesus tells me to do or say become refreshing and right. It’s a decision for us all. Open His window which He alone has built into your heart. Always our choice from the very beginning of the world. Choose love, really, it is the only choice we have to make, have always had to make.
It’s pretty good. Norm Peterson / Jack Gator


1. George MacDonald ‘At the back of the North Wind’ 1871 isbn 0 85421 753 3

Discarded

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

I was in my twenties when I found an apartment that fitted my mood. Recently discharged from the military and I was going to art school! The apartment fit the inherited car from his Grandfather, an old, square shaped Buick sedan. It wasn’t like my first car, the British Racing Green MGA with the real knock-off spoke wheels and Pirelli Cinturados and a Derrington wood rim steering wheel. No, It was the car of my discarded Grandfather, now passed down to me. Discarded because the once strong fireman was not capable of driving or putting out fires anymore. It felt good to me to get that old Buick.

Grandpa had killed my cat when I was young, because it had to be as Grandpa could not have my cat in his home when Mom and her new husband went on their honeymoon to Sweden. I had no say as I was in grade school and felt discarded, set aside and not worthy of dialogue or even gentleness. Mom and her immigrant husband never went on that honeymoon either. One of those memories of the life of a person now dead but living within me. a.

It felt sort of similar too that my family sold my precious MGA when the draft came in with a whirlwind of death harvest for Vietnam. I signed up first before I could have gone west to the jungles. I went east to the Mediterranean sea instead.

So I sold Grandpas Buick right away, traded it for an Austin Healy Sprite. It felt good to be in a roadster again. Made up a bit for the Green MGA and the cat.

My apartment was a dump. Second floor above a Sherman Williams paint store on the wrong side of the tracks. Corner store, separate entrance. I had a neighbor who was down and out and bummed smokes from me. When I would ask him how things were going, the neighbor always said: “just take me to the dump” That memory reminds me of Marvin the paranoid android in Hitchhikers guide. “I’m not getting you down am I?”

It seems that the latest attitude we all have. “It’s at the end of it’s service life” or “that old thing? Too expensive to fix, toss it” “ You’re what! Pregnant! Git rid of it, You’ve got your whole life ahead of you!” and our favorite: “Heck, he’s over 80. Forget that cornea transplant. I mean really, how many years does he have left anyway?” “Put her in a home, she won’t notice anyway” And so forth. As side note, as I edit this post I just had eye surgery for cataracts and I am 81. Love it! I can drive without glasses now.

Feeling useless because the popular philosophy now is Existential in nature. One man in particular, a philosopher, Friedrich Nietzsche, went insane in the most beautiful country in the world, Switzerland. He came to the point of knowing the tension and despair for the loss of meaning in his life because of the loss of a personal God. His words are profound: “ But all pleasure seeks eternity-a deep and profound eternity”. Groucho Marks said: ” I want to live forever and I’ll die trying it” Truth from a great comedian.

Our country has found itself discarding our God of Creation perhaps because He is inconvenient and is sort of a kill joy because of all those rules he has. “I can’t follow all those rules in the Bible!” Of course we can’t, that’s the point of the rules. We need Him.

So we discard what we feel and know is not worthwhile to us. An old car, out of date food and personal relationships that are used up and don’t make us feel the way we want to. Or the way we feel we are entitled to perhaps. We have so much ‘stuff ‘ that it gets in our way when we don’t like it or need it. Broken things, old things past their expiration dates. Things that we don’t even remember acquiring. And so it goes on and on until it becomes easier to discard than repair. “That car, it was getting old and anyway, I was tired of driving it” How much different is it when it comes to this? “He was getting on my nerves. All this talk about going to a church marriage counselor! It was his fault, so I divorced him”

It seems prudent to us to just put it in a blue plastic container and park it down by the end of the driveway every Tuesday. ‘Don’t throw the baby out with the bath water! Throw out the tub too!’ I can do what I want, that’s what the world says. Another philosopher, De Sade put it well: “If there is no standard, no real moral base, then that old woman walking down the road can either be helped or run over. No difference if there are no moral standards” Those standards have been firmly set by an eternal infinite loving God who knows us and desires us to love him with the same passion he loves us.

So, it’s our choices, the small ones that make a great impact on everyone. Should I discard this friend? This inconvenient baby? This old fashioned religious teaching? This God who never did anything I asked Him to do?

Always, always our choice to build, repair, embrace and seek truth in the eyes of the Man who is more alive than any man who ever lived. Jesus, the master repairman of old and stressed lives. It’s pretty good.

Norm Peterson / Jack Gator For continuation of this story line see ‘Motorcycle Pilgrimage 1-5

a. Mark Batterson “please, thanks and sorry”

Neighbors Noises

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

I was curious. There was a noise about a mile away, maybe two that was irritating me. A noise like a Chinese water torture. A machine emitting the beep beep beep as it backed up. Over and over, all summer and fall and now approaching winter. None of my family was irritated, but I heard a constant A above C wherever I was working on the ranch. Over and over for months and finally it was time to find the source. Perhaps a bobcat or Track Hoe building a road or parking lot. Big parking lot.

Finally, the last wheelbarrow of dry firewood was stacked on the porch and I had it. I got into the old Ranger and drove to the noise. Backtracked once but found the source. There is a road that goes off the main highway to a gated housing community. New homes. Gravel road. Gator drove up to the gate which was open. An electrically operated gate. There was a new road punched through the woods covered with #3 coarse rock for a short distance. I could hear the beep beep and knew it was the source area. I began walking up after shutting off the truck with it in reverse gear selected.

Realizing I might look out of place, I grabbed a couple of papers out of the glove box. Looking like an inspector of sorts as I walked up the wobbly rock. There was a parked truck just up ahead. It wasn’t bad going until I got past the truck. Then wet clay with puddles. Nope, too mucky.

Nothing within sight, curiosity somewhat satisfied, I started back to the truck. No truck. What! I looked left and right for it and rounding the corner, saw the truck. It was parked in a ditch on the wrong side of the road. A rather steep ditch and walking up to it, I found the ditch as ‘a bit wet’. Truck was ok, started but just spun the wheels (not 4wd). Suddenly a young man up on the hill at the only home on the road so far, called out to him and said he could help. A tractor started and began to warm up in a shop and the young man walked down his driveway with a canvas tow strap and chain attached.

Astonished, I immediately got down on the wet ground and hooked the strap to a convenient tow hook on the front of the Ranger. The strap was of a perfect length and shortly, down the driveway came a nice sized New Holland 4wd tractor. Gator easily hooked the hook to a small length of chain on the top of the bucket. A nod and thumbs up from the driver, back to the Ranger and the tractor pulled me out to the road. I crawled back under the front end of the truck (now with wet pants but not in 2 inches of water) got the strap off and the young man came off the seat of the tractor. He had a lit cigarette and I asked him for a smoke. Standing there with the crisis over, I was back in the military when only a smoke would do to relax. I have not smoked for decades but it is the thing to do when your life has been saved.

Several cars drove by, high end cars without a glance in their direction. Nice Mercedes’. A few minutes earlier, there would have been a serious problem. A sixty thousand dollar car with an old Ford rolling backwards across the road. I must have missed the last quarter of an inch engaging reverse or perhaps it just popped out from the strain of the steep road. The parking brake cables had long ago broken and if you are familiar with rear drum brakes, the repair is not fun, expensive and who needs parking brakes anyway? We never think those are also referred to as emergency brakes. I didn’t, I do now.

It was amazing and impossible. Shaking and humbled, I drove home, thanking the Lord over and over for His protection and help.

My expotition (family word from wind in the willows) was successful as my rescuer filled me in on the development project. It was a driveway to a sold winery that overlooked Little Trade Lake. A good friend and neighbor that lives on the lake, Rick, the was pleased as this turn of events. The winery had numerous parties that echoed over the lake waters late at night.

We could hear those parties now and then, but high above the water with amplified acoustics, it was over the top for our friend Rick. Of course, as a small bonus, lake development in rural America is funding a large amount of township taxes. I lived in the ‘cities’ most of my life and can comprehend the quiet of rural lake cabins. Mostly quiet. Now it’s power bass boats and jet riders but only on the weekends that are warm. As a pleasant sound, those weekends are sprinkled with kids laughing and sporting their parents side by side ‘golf carts’ up and down our road. It has to be an incredible feeling of freedom for them and does not irritate me at all. Just the incessant beep beep backup alarm on a bobcat. For months.

We disconnected that on Rick’s bobcat a long time ago when we serviced and used it. No one has gotten run over yet.

It’s pretty good. Norm/ Jack

Unrepeatable Beauty

/ Norman Eric Peterson / Leave a comment

There it was, so fleeting perhaps and gone quickly. So many moments in our lives that stun us that we cannot reproduce. The fragrance of a smile in the midst of a ferocious storm or a measure of music that was perfect, even in a recording cannot reproduce the moment you heard it. A memory of beauty is not the moment it was seen or heard or even smelled. A farmer working his field with the music of his machines. A hummingbird, dancing in the lilac bush just outside the window that I opened. The sound of It’s wings, the sight of the bird going back and forth, dancing for his mate just inches before him. Exciting, unexpected and so intimate that I had to sit on our bed and thank my creator for that gift.

The beauty of paintings that come close is a slight opening to the painters grasp of a face. The Mona Lisa of Leonardo described by Vesardi :”There was a smile so pleasing that it was more divine than human” As I meandered in the halls of the Vatican almost sixty years ago, I was silent and amazed at the masterful paintings, the priceless paintings that came close. They made me long for the painters mind and visions that he tried to capture. Beauty close but not all of it. The smell of the oils, the touch of the brush on canvas and the gift to see what conveys some of the experience.

Later in my life there are moment’s still strong in my memory of desert sunsets. The sound and motion of lying in my bunk at sea, rocked to sleep with the rush of the warm bunker oil beneath the deck. Describing it can invoke memory but it is not being there. Beauty and comfort in a war.

The sound of laughter and an overwhelming partnership between a couple next to me. We were playing and singing in upstate New York, Cafe Leena near Saratoga . I was with Bill Hinkley and Judy Larson on my left. The song was obscure but the music swirled about them. Judy’s laugh and Bill’s smile created beauty for eternity.

A small storefront in Northwest Wisconsin that my family had transformed into a place of musical worship was beautiful. To the family, remembering years afterward of those moments of unity indescribable. We all played and sang together in the evenings. The small, hand painted sign over the sidewalk, hanging from the awning is gone. (Recently, that prayer room has been turned into a tattoo parlor.)

When we were there, the Pioneer bar that gave free internet to us through the brick walls. It burned badly years after we left and that bar looked like it got the wrong end of a 105 mm. Next to the burned bar building was a closed bakery storefront. No small tables with good breakfasts and glass cases displaying the sugary delights. All memories that cannot be captured with photos, smells or conversation. No more pedestrians walking out with with white bags of donuts. Those memories are stored away within and are precious.

As I edit this, the bar is being rebuilt, with the bakery part of it. A common plaza shared by them offers me a vision of sitting there with a crafted beer and a donut, enjoying the new view and ‘sus’ the ambiance of a rebirth. Worship music on the jukebox perhaps? God does interesting things.

The sighing of the wind through a tree top, the sudden smell of flowers as my son rides by on his opposed transverse 4 cylinder Honda. The sound of the power coupled with that wind. Where does it come from and where does it go? That is an old question asked by Jesus to Nicodemus. No isobars and satellite images that guess at where the breath of God comes and goes. Nicodemus could not answer that question either. Can you? As the song goes, “This is the air I breathe”

A combined beauty of things seen, felt and smelled that cannot be captured to enjoy again. Fleeting and a glimpse of eternity. Our memories are reminders but not the real moments, of stunning beauty

My navy best friend Chuck told me about it in five words. “It’s better than you said!” He said those words appearing to me just as he died several thousand miles away. Another memory, strong, stunning and indescribable. I do wonder what I said when I visited him. We grasp the wind and paint with our camera’s lens, beauty heard and seen.

“At the family burial plot, all the people I have ever known are buried there—the bouncing boy, my mothers pride, the pimply boy and secret sensualist; the reluctant military man; the beholder at dawn through the hospital glass of my first born child. All these selves I was I am no longer, not even the bodies they wore are my body any longer, and although when I try, I can remember scraps and pieces about them, I can no longer remember what it felt like to live inside their skin. Yet they live inside my skin to this day, they are buried in me somewhere, ghosts that certain songs, tastes, smells, sights, tricks of weather can raise, and although I am not the same as they, I am not different either because their having been then is responsible for my being now.” Frederic Buechner: ‘The Alphabet of Grace‘

It’s pretty good. Norman Peterson / Jack Gator